


In Twilight Hours

by spelledink



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Character Death, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Romance, Smut, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelledink/pseuds/spelledink
Summary: In Paris, Andy and Miranda share one night of passion. Tragedy follows. Miranda aches for forgiveness. Will they find each other again?This story is inspired by the song "In Twilight Hours" by Kamelot.Some parts are also inspired by Dante Alighieri's "Inferno"
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120





	1. One Night

**Author's Note:**

> Andy consoles Miranda in Paris, and offers her love.

Miranda Priestly sat in her room at the Hôtel Plaza Athénée. Holding the fax in her hand, fingers trembling. With a cry, she cast the pages away. They fluttered down, a rain of white. Scattering as they fell.

_Unlike her tears._

Another marriage done, and she couldn’t even cry. She reached beside her. Picking up her half-filled glass, taking a drink. Relishing the Aberlour single malt’s burn. Its rush and sting. The hints of plum, raisin, and oak tickling her tongue.

She was alone now. No one by her side. Nigel would hate her, tomorrow. Her girls, too. She couldn’t blame Caroline and Cassidy. Once again, they’d pay for her failings. Another divorce, another season of ridicule, in the press. And for what? Maintaining an illusion, a fiction. Like she’d always done. Until now. The dragon’s mask she’d crafted cracking.

_Because of one person._

Was it worth it, to give up her true self? To live a lie, for so long?

Her daughters had been the one bright spot in her deceit. The one thing she’d gained, from any man, that she’d wanted.

She’d always preferred women. Their taste and touch. Soft curves and silky skin. Fingers wise, knowing each secret place, of pleasure to give and take. Yet only one had seen her. Woke her slumbering heart, and made her _feel_.

One girl, so young, so heedless of her place. Fueling Miranda’s craving, her closeted desire.

How Miranda wished she could be honest. Be herself. Shatter the façade, and claim the one she burned for. Whose brilliant smile, and doe eyes left her breathless. The dazzling creature she’d once called fat.

_Andréa._

_The woman she’d fallen for._

How the girl had changed. Transformed, over months of challenge. By some strange alchemy, beyond mere clothes. All at once revealed. Made precious. Her beauty, her kindness, so apparent. The audacity, the courage, beneath her small-town charm.

How Miranda wished to show her, tell her. Her heart laid open, offered freely. Each hope and tender feeling, spread wide before her feet. A tapestry of dreams, bright with stars.

_Yet it could never be._

Miranda sighed, something tight within her chest. It was impossible. Another scandal would ruin her. And what would her daughters think, if they knew the truth? Knew she’d been this way, felt this way, all along? Yet still, she wished to act. Let down her walls. Throw sense and caution aside, if only for a moment. To hold Andréa close. Thread zealous fingers through dark hair. Fall upon her lips, with endless kisses.

Miranda closed her eyes, images of the girl wheeling through her mind. What would it be like? To let go. To fall, heedless of consequence. Offer her heart, unsure of requital. Wager everything on a chance at what she’d always wanted.

_To be loved, simply for herself._

She’d known love, to be sure, with her daughters. Treasured the gift they’d brought, unforeseen, into her life. But never before had she felt this want, this need, for someone else. To belong to them. To give herself, without shame or fear. To be _hers_ , in every way.

She’d never been in love before.

It came as a shock. The sudden realization. How selfish her closed heart had been, for so long.

_Could Andréa love someone like her?_

She was young, beautiful, at the start of her journey. Miranda was… not. Oh, her looks still held. Couture and cosmetics helped, in that regard. But time was catching up to her. Ticking away. Each step her daughters took towards womanhood making her feel older. Smaller, less secure. Wondering what kind of future awaited her, when they left.

Miranda sighed. She’d wasted so much time. So many years, alone. In every boardroom, at every gala, no matter how crowded. Even her bedroom.

_Because she never let anyone in._

But how she wanted to, with Andréa. To make a home, within her heart, just for her. 

A scowl tore Miranda’s face. It couldn’t happen. The risk was too great. Even if Andréa felt the same. It would jeopardize her future, as much as Miranda’s. Maybe more. She’d never be taken seriously after the tabloids had their way with her.

_I won’t do that to her._

_It’s bad enough Caroline and Cassidy get hurt, because of me._

Miranda poured another drink, sipping it. Melancholy setting in. “If only I’d been braver, so long ago,” she whispered. “Lived my life the way I’d wanted to. I could’ve ended up with someone like her.” She shook her head, lips twisting in a rueful smirk. “But I don’t want someone else. Even now, even so late, all I want is her.”

Miranda chuckled, thinking of how they’d first met. How indignant Andréa had been, passed over for a mere assistant’s position. 

Miranda had seen it before, so many times. Other’s viewing fashion as mere spectacle, entertainment. The province of narcissists. A looking-glass world without meaning, divorced from reality. Of course, some of that was _true_. But one had to know it first, to pick apart its eccentricities and foibles. To see the art that lay within the fantasy.

How Miranda had reveled in Andréa’s ire, dark eyes alight with flame. Her determination charming. The way she turned at the doorway, cheeks flushed red. Her passion…

_Arousing._

Miranda had given Andréa her chance. Never thinking she’d succeed. And yet she had. Conquering each challenge set before her. Changing as she did. Becoming something new, unexpected. A revelation. Picking her way through the bramble covered hedgerow around Miranda’s heart.

And wasn’t that the scariest thing.

Miranda shook her head, finishing the glass of scotch. Setting the tumbler down. A click sounded off to the right. The door to Andréa’s room swinging open.

The girl appeared, clad in an Alexander McQueen minidress. Black, brass buttoned epaulettes at its shoulders. A military collar fastened at her throat. A matching pair of ankle booties on her feet. Lace thigh highs clinging to her long legs. Dark hair tumbling in waves to her shoulders. Miranda’s eyes widened, taking her assistant in.

_She’s stunning._

Miranda glared at the younger woman. “What do you want, Andréa?” she asked. Andy stared at Miranda. Transfixed, mocha eyes soft. “I had to come,” she said. “To be here, no matter what.” Miranda’s eyes crinkled in annoyance. “Why?” she asked.

Andy stepped closer. “I know something’s wrong,” she said. “That something’s hurting you. And I couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t leave you here, alone.”

A sneer curled Miranda’s lips. Cobalt eyes sharp, edged with ice. “Everyone leaves, Andréa,” she said. “Why not you?” Andy shook her head, determined. “I can’t,” she said. “I won’t. So, please, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how I can help.”

Miranda scoffed. “You can’t,” she said. Her voice low, a rusty growl. She gestured to the papers littering the floor. “I’m getting divorced. Again.” A quiet sorrow flickered in her eyes. She looked away, pushing the hurt down. “It… it doesn’t matter about me. Not really. But Caroline, Cassidy… what will I tell them?”

Andy shook her head. Her words a dark murmur. “He’s a fool,” she said. “You don’t deserve this. To be hurt, by someone like him.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow, her voice low, mocking. “Really Andréa?” she said. “And how do you know what I deserve? Haven’t you heard what they call me? Devil in heels, queen bitch, _unloveable_.” 

Brown eyes flared, fury waking in their depths. “They’re wrong!” she said. “They don’t know you. They don’t see you. Not like I have.”

Miranda eyed the brunette, curious. “And what have you seen, Andréa?” she asked. 

The brunette’s eyes softened. “You,” she said. Something raw, unguarded, in the word. Vulnerable. Surrendering it to Miranda, like a gift. "The real you. The one behind the mask. The one you hide away. Artist, mother, _woman_.” Brown eyes pinned Miranda, inescapable. “I saw your heart.”

Andy turned away. Face cast down, a shy bloom upon her cheeks. Miranda reached out, cupping Andy’s chin, raising it. Meeting her eyes. Dark, welling with newborn tears. “Why are you here, Andréa?” she said. Her fingers grazed upwards, combing through auburn hair. Andy sighed at the touch. Leaning into it. Her answer soft, tremulous. A secret truth, revealed.

“Because I love you,” she said. “I'm here for you. Just you.” Her voice lowered, a soft entreaty. “So, don’t leave. Don’t turn me away. Let me stay with you. Be with you. Please.” Miranda shook her head. “How can you say that?” she asked. “How can you be sure?”

Andy smiled. Eyes soft, tender. “The heart is wise, without words,” she said. “And all mine wants is you.”

Miranda paused, searching Andy’s eyes. Leaning forward. Hands rising, framing her face. Fingers eager to touch, tangling in auburn hair. Kissing her. Worshiping the lips that parted for her, an invitation. Moaning as their tongues touched. They collapsed together, upon the ivory Louis XIV sofa.

Andy sank down, falling to her knees. Between Miranda’s legs. Pulling the tie of her grey Versace robe loose, parting it. Pushing it from her shoulders. Letting it pool around her hips. Revealing Miranda. Her breasts bare, nipples peaked with arousal. A delicate lace thong, white, covering her sex. Andy looked up, a blush climbing her cheeks. Hesitant, awaiting consent.

Miranda nodded. Eyes locked with Andy’s. The brunette smiled, fingers curling around fragrant silk, Easing the garment down. Her touch slow, reverent. Sliding it down Miranda’s legs. Tossing it aside.

Andy leaned forward, gazing upon her love. She reached out, hands sliding up Miranda’s thighs. Parting them. Pressing a kiss at their apex. Her tongue eager, painting a stripe up Miranda’s slit. Moaning at her love’s taste. Andy continued, probing deep. Her mouth worshipful. Lips closing around Miranda’s clit, sucking it. Tongue orbiting, in ardent circles. A cry fell from Miranda’s lips, fingers tightening in Andy’s hair. Legs shuddering as she came undone.

Miranda looked down upon Andy. Cupping her cheek. “Come,” Miranda said. She rose. Slim fingers grasping Andy’s hand. Leading her across the room. To a canopied king bed, strewn with pillows. She stopped, facing Andy. Plucking at her dress. Pulling its wide belt open. Trembling upon the brass buttoned collar, its hidden zipper. She slid the garment off Andy’s shoulders. Letting it fall to her ankles. Andy stepped free. The sight stunning. Clad in Brazilian-cut La Perla briefs, black, a matching balconette above. The sheer lace teasing at sinful curves beneath.

Miranda leaned close, breathing Andy in. The scent of peony and geranium, warm, upon her skin. Reaching back, she unhooked the bra, letting it flutter to the floor. Miranda groaned, hands falling to Andy’s hips. Easing the lace briefs down. Fingertips tingling upon her legs. Andy smiled. Gentle, bright with affection. She reached up, tugging Miranda to the mattress. They tumbled together. Hearts ignited upon another kiss.

Miranda fell upon Andy, avid for her touch. Lips closing upon the brunette’s pulse point, teeth grazing her throat. Wanting to mark her, claim her. Leave some witness, indelible, upon pale skin. Pressing kisses lower, upon Andy’s breasts. Circling one nipple with her tongue. Brushing her lips across the other, continuing.

Miranda moved lower. Trailing kisses down Andy’s belly. Teasing the sensitive skin at her waist. Settling between Andy’s legs. Opening her, with gentle hands. Leaning forward, dragging her tongue through the brunette’s folds. A satisfied hum falling from her lips. Wanting only more. Mouth and chin slick as her tongue pulsed deeper. Rising to swirl it around a needy clit. 

She gazed up at Andy. The sight beautiful. Hair disheveled, face wanton, a sheen of sweat upon her skin. Hips bucking, seeking release. “More,” she gasped. “Please.” Miranda entered Andy, two fingers curling up. Gliding into wet heat. Finding a certain spot. Pads massaging, circling. Dragging across her inner wall. “So close,” Andy whispered. “So close, Miranda.” Miranda bent low, taking Andy’s clit in her mouth. Flattening her tongue upon it.

Andy cried out. Hips jerking as she orgasmed, hands fisted in white linen. She lolled against Miranda. Limbs lax. Spent. Miranda smiled, removing her fingers. She lay there. Head pillowed upon Andy’s belly, for a moment. Listening. The frantic heartbeat slowing, little by little, as she did. She crawled up, beside her. Eyes lingering upon her face. Something warm, tight, and dangerous in her chest.

Miranda sighed. A shadow flitting through her thoughts. A fear, of something, yet to come. Some sorrow, yet unmet. Knowing this could not last. Knowing she would ruin it. Like she always did.

_If only things were different._

_If only I were._

Miranda leaned close, perusing Andy’s face. Memorizing each detail, like something precious. A treasure soon lost. Concern clouded Andy’s eyes. “Are you alright, Miranda?” she asked. “Should I… should I leave?” Miranda shook her head. “Stay,” she said. “Stay with me, please.” Andy smiled, burrowing into Miranda’s embrace. Miranda sighed, pressing a kiss to her hair.

_Let me have this._

_Let me have her._

_If only for tonight._

_No matter tomorrow’s tears._


	2. Something Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda rejects Andy, leading to tragedy.

The room was empty when Andy woke. A note lay on the nightstand, its script in Miranda’s hand.

 _Andréa, we’ll be leaving for the Musée Galliera at eight. I had some things delivered for you. They’re on the divan. I hope you enjoy them._

_M._

Andy held the note to her breast, a blush climbing her cheeks. She crossed the room, entering the bath. Turning the shower on. She entered the glass enclosure, stepping into the spray, moaning at its warmth. She picked up a bottle from a shelf, its contents light gold. Body wash. She opened it, taking a curious sniff. Orange blossom, frangipani and jasmine tickled her nose. She smiled, pouring some into her hand, spreading it across her skin. She replaced the bottle, finding a matching shampoo, lathering it into her hair. Letting the water rain down, stinging the love bites on her skin, chasing soap bubbles to the drain.

Andy turned the water off, exiting the shower. She grabbed a fluffy white towel from a gilt rack, drying off. Taking another for her hair. She stepped before the mirror, gazing at herself. A feeling of joy, completeness, within her. A grin stretching her cheeks wide. She took the hair dryer that lay upon the marble counter, plugging it in. She switched it on, blowing her hair out. Using a brush to pull it into shape. She nodded at herself. “Let’s see what Miranda wants me to wear,” she said.

Andy left the bathroom, striding to the divan. She stopped, gazing at the clothes arranged upon it. Shoes, lingerie. A dress. Soft to the touch, beautifully made. A contented hum fell from her lips.

She picked up the undies first. A Lise Charmel floral demicup bra and lace thong, black. She put them on, loving their silken texture. She sat upon the divan, rolling a pair of back seam thigh highs up her legs. She stood, putting on the dress, zipping it up. Andy chuckled. Valentino, of course. A crepe belted midi dress, dark midnight. Its skirt flared at the bottom. She slipped into the shoes. A matching pair of Louboutin stilettos, completing the outfit. She turned to the bed, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror beside it. A thrill rushing through her. Feeling beautiful, wanted. “I’d better finish,” she whispered. “No need to keep her waiting.” She stepped into the bath, eyes flitting to the vanity. Spying a selection of Lancôme products. She smiled, selecting a few. Finishing her look.

Andy crossed the room, opening the door to her own. Pausing by the nightstand to grab her bag. A Tory Burch clutch, black leather. She turned, exiting to the hallway. Striding towards the elevators. Something warm, bright, bubbling in her chest. Anticipation, to the see the one she called home.

Andy stepped into the hotel lobby, heels clicking across its white marble floor. She spied Miranda, standing beside a russet column. Clad in a Herve Leger turtleneck midi dress, white, clinging to her curves. The slit up one side revealing a tantalizing flash of leg. Snowy Balenciaga knife pumps, soft lambskin, on her feet. Silver hair a short bob, bangs tousled, framing her beautiful face. Andy stopped, transfixed. Eyes upon the woman she loved. Breathless.

Miranda turned, noticing Andy. Her face cool, composed. Cobalt eyes appraising, taking in the brunette’s form. She nodded, lips quirking. “The Valentino suits you, Andréa,” she murmured. Andy blushed, drawing near Miranda. “Thank you,” she said. She gazed at the older woman. Her voice a low whisper. “You’re … beautiful,” she said.

Miranda’s cheeks colored, her eyes darting away. She nodded towards the door. “The car will be here soon,” she said. “We should go.” She turned, walking to the door, pushing it open. Andy followed, a frown marring her face, hurrying to catch up.

The sun rose behind gray clouds, over the horizon. Staining the sky pink and salmon. The last stars winking out, as day arrived. A light breeze fluttered Andy’s skirt, whispering through her hair. The street was quiet. Miranda stood before her, leaning against a wrought iron fence. Eyes cast down, her back a silent rebuff.

Andy slowed her steps. Drawing near Miranda. A strange anxiety fluttering in her belly. “Are you all right, Miranda?” she asked. “Have I done something wrong?” Miranda turned. Her eyes fixed upon Andy. Some emotion, unreadable, flickering deep within. “We can’t do this,” she said. “Last night, what we did… it can’t continue.” Andy stared, dismay painting her features. She edged towards Miranda. “Can’t we try?” she asked. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll… I’ll wait, as long as it takes.”

Miranda’s breath caught. “Why would you want to do that?” she asked. Andy replied, her voice low, sincere. “Because it’s you,” she said. “Because I’m in love with you.” Miranda’s resolve wavered. Wanting to hold the girl, and never let go.

A traitorous thought halted her.

_If we’re found out…_

_It would mean scandal. Ruin._

Her face hardened. Thinking of her daughters. Knowing what she had to do.

End this. Now. By any means.

Her eyes narrowed, imperious. Frost edging her words. A weapon, meant to destroy. “Love, Andréa?” she sneered. “Don’t be absurd.” A cruel smirk curled her lips, her voice low. “You were a good fuck. A pretty distraction. Nothing more.” Tears gathered in Andy’s eyes. She shook her head. Her words an open wound. “You’re lying,” she said. “Why are you so afraid? It doesn’t have to be like this!”

Miranda turned. Something in her breaking. Knowing what she threw away. Afraid to meet Andréa’s eyes.

“That’s all,” she replied.

Andy backed away, devastated. “I know you love me,” she whispered. “I know you do.” Her clutch dropped, from nerveless fingers, its contents spilling to the ground. She turned, stumbling to the curb. A sob falling from her lips. Needing to be gone. Away. Anywhere else. Fleeing her tormentor.

She stepped into the narrow street, blinded by tears. Of all else, heedless. A horn blared. Brakes screeching. She turned, a blurred shape approaching. It struck, hurling her aloft, a broken doll. Suddenly _flying_. Thrown across the car’s hood, then crashing to the ground. Miranda turned, eyes widening. Seeing Andy’s fall. Her body, so still. The ruddy pool around it. She dashed into the street, careless of consequence. Falling to her knees, bending low beside the girl. Hands and gown sullied. Sirens in the distance, coming near.

Andy’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Miranda’s. Warm amber, falling dim. She smiled. A carmine trickle falling from her lips.

Voice soft, so very soft. “I’ll wait,” she said.

Then spoke no more. 


	3. From Darkness, Into Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda cannot go on without Andy. She faces an eternity of punishment, alone. An old friend comes to her aid.

Miranda stood in her study. Looking out its window, leaning against the jamb. Nursing a glass of scotch. Notes of honey, caramel and oak tingling upon her tongue. Soft music coming from behind. Sarah Vaughan singing _These Foolish Things_. She listened. The lyrics poignant. Reminding her of something precious. Someone lost. A light extinguished by her fear. Words, sharp as any knife.

 _Andy_

“What was I trying to keep, I wonder?” she whispered. “That was worth _this_.” She bowed her head, letting out a ragged breath. “What a fool,” she said. “Hiding from my heart. Hiding from myself. Afraid of what the world would think. When all I wanted was _her_.”

She’d cast her crown aside. Abdicating, that Paris night. Leaving it all. Her empire of dust, and shifting sand, in all its transient glory _._

Miranda took another sip, ice rattling in the empty glass. She set it down, upon the sill. Gazing out, into the dark. Eyes glittering, her tears unshed.

There was nothing left for her, now. Nothing she wanted. Still, she lingered. In hours vespertine. A ghost in the window. Her forgiveness, never to come.

Miranda eyed her reflection in the glass. Shadowy, silver hair in disarray. Wearing a white off-the-shoulder sweater, cashmere. True Religion jeans, black, below. She glared at the image. Hate spiking in her heart.

What was the point? Of staying here, continuing? Emptiness was all she had. No one remained. Not since _then_. Even her children. 

She was alone.

As she deserved.

As she always feared she’d be.

“Would anyone care if I were gone?” she whispered. “Would it even make a difference?” Miranda turned. Stalking to her desk. Taking the bottle from it. Ripping the cork from its neck, tossing it aside. She raised it to her lips, drinking deep. Desperate for relief. An anodyne to her grief. Her blood guilt, unpunished. She set the bottle down, upon the desk. Leaning against it. Nodding to herself, a decision made.

_No more waiting._

Miranda exited the study, walking down the stairs. Ankle booties clicking on oak treads. She played with the key in her pocket. Setting it down upon a small half-table. She opened the nearby closet. Retrieving an Armani peacoat, black, its collar soft velvet. Shrugging it on. She eyed the key, leaving it on the table. A tiny smirk curled her lips. She opened the door, letting it shut behind her.

She headed downtown, her steps echoing down the walk. Each one a leavetaking. The spires of a bridge growing in the distance, its lights blue and amber. She walked towards them. Mounting a familiar path. The street falling away as she climbed, up the bridge. She looked out, midway across, at the river, far below. Its depths calling to her. Beckoning.

She pulled herself up the chain-link barrier, clambering atop a metal beam. She looked out over the river. The moon breaking from behind clouds, shimmering upon its surface. She took a deep breath. Taking in its beauty. Something free, almost like joy, within her breast. She smiled. Hoping it would receive her. Pull her down. Wrap her in its weedy cerements. Never to be found again.

_It was time._

She lunged forward. Arms wide. Embracing it all. Water, moon, the stars above. Hair a bright flame in the dark, fluttering as she fell. One name upon her lips.

_Andy_

* * *

_Cold._

_It was cold._

Miranda opened her eyes. She lay upon a grassy knoll, dusted white. Snow fell from above, flakes drifting down. Alighting her cheeks and eyelashes. Melting on her lips. She rose. Turning about, eyes watchful. Taking in her surroundings. A forest, shrouded by mist, its trees skeletal. Barren. Branches twisted, thorny. Like some soul in torment.

Realization cut through her. A memory of stars, and shining water. Impact and oblivion. She’d finally done it. Took the last step. Cast her life aside. Brought to this place.

The consequence of all she’d done, and failed to do.

Miranda shivered, huddling in her coat. She could not stay here.

_But where to go?_

She shook her head. One direction was good as another. This place, her prison now. White solitude, her kingdom.

 _Ice queen in truth._

Miranda gazed at the forest, wondering what lay beyond. What secrets hid beneath its eaves. It stood before her, silent. A frozen ghost. Oak and aspen, gray, mournful. Limbs raised, in supplication. Bent, as if by loss.

Miranda left the knoll. Approaching the wood. She halted at its edge. Hesitant. Then stepped beneath the trees.

It was still, so still. Snow blanketing the forest floor, untouched by footfall. Wind whistling through its branches, doleful. A dirge for things departed.

Miranda shook free of her thoughts. She forged ahead, weaving between tree trunks. Leaning against one, for a moment. A branch snapping off in her hand. Sap smearing her palm, like blood.

She continued, through tangled undergrowth. Pushing through thicket and drift. Torn by bramble and thorn. Their sting her only companion. Forward, ever forward. Forgoing pause or sleep. Lost to time. Wan light in the distance. Growing near. The forest coming to an end.

Miranda looked out, gaping at the vista before her. All hope abandoned. Her fate, her punishment, clear.

Snow, nothing but snow. Smooth tundra, stretching towards the horizon. Perfect, endless. Wind scouring its surface, scattering whorls of powder.

This was her end. Her cold damnation.

 _Fitting for a frozen heart._

A cry tore from Miranda’s throat, lost upon the wind. Shattered. Finally breaking. She sank to her knees, falling to the icy ground. Welcoming the darkness that rushed to meet her. One thought, one prayer, left.

_Forgive me._

* * *

Something pushed Miranda. Soft, insistent. Rousing her to consciousness. She groaned, eyes blinking open. The sound of panting beside her. A dog. Its blocky head nudged her side. Wet nose snuffling her hair. A rough tongue bathed Miranda’s face, bidding her wake. Miranda rose, kneeling in the snow. She gasped, gazing at her rescuer. Eyes dark, expressive. Coat white, patched brown and black. A heavy tail, thumping against Miranda’s side. A beloved friend. Lost, so many months before.

 _Patricia._

Miranda launched herself at the St. Bernard. Hugging her close. Burying her face in warm fur. Tears splashing the dog’s coat. “Good girl,” she whispered. “I missed you. I missed you, so much.” She leaned into the dog’s bulk. A spark of hope within her breast. Patricia pulled away, letting out a low woof. She broke from Miranda’s embrace. Brown eyes knowing, expectant. Miranda stood, cautious, legs unsteady. She reached out, curling her fingers around Patricia’s collar. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll go together.”

Patricia led Miranda forward, across the snowfield. Her pull insistent. Body pressed to Miranda’s side, halting any stumble. Urging her forward. Her strength a quiet comfort. The trail before them changed. Tundra yielding to rock and hardscrabble, their footsteps ascending. A mountain in the distance, its summit crowned in frost. Patricia led on, tugging Miranda forward. Pausing only to rest. Lying beside her mistress. Huddled close for warmth. 

On the dog led, resolute. Across rock and spindly grass, snow and gravelly wash. Leading Miranda on, unwavering. Whether days or hours, she did not know. The mountain grew near. Fir and spruce trees dotting its slope. A rough trail, littered with rockfalls, leading up. Miranda stumbled, hand slipping from the collar. Patricia broke free, heading up the path. She turned back, impatient. Cocking her head. Her bark a call to follow.

Miranda scrambled up the uneven track, her footing unsteady. Breaths labored as she climbed. Spying Patricia, atop a rocky crest. She pushed ahead, joining her. Miranda’s eyes fell down, widening. 

A sheltered valley lay before her. A stream, cascading from rocks above, winding through it. Green everywhere, strewn with flowers. Geraniums, columbine, and phlox. A small cabin beyond, of hewn pine logs, its roof cedar shingled. Smoke curling from a stone chimney. Patricia darted forward, leaving the ridge. Bounding towards the house below. Miranda followed. A feeling, strange, familiar, in her heart. 

A garden lay before the house, bright with blooms. Pink primrose, and asters, purple and white. A woman, standing in their midst, greeting the dog. Barefoot, her dress flax linen. Hair, waves of auburn, falling down her back.

She turned towards Miranda.

 _Andréa_

Their eyes locked. Joy and tears at once revealed. Footsteps impatient. Reaching out. Colliding as they met. Bodies wrapped, in a tight embrace.

“I told you I’d wait,” Andy said.

Miranda sobbed, letting go at last. Words tumbling free. “I love you, Andy,” she said. “I love you. More than I could ever say, ‘til now.” She shook her head, eyes blurred. “I’m sorry I was afraid. Sorry I hurt you. But I’m yours, forever yours, if you’ll have me.”

A low hum of pleasure sounded in Andy’s throat. Her breath warm against Miranda’s cheek. “Forever and ever,” she said. She smiled. Hands combing through silver hair. Leaning her forehead against Miranda’s, eyes shining. Dark cinnamon, flecked with gold. Tilting her head, closing the gap between them.

Absolution in her kiss.

Like coming home.


End file.
